


Every Man's Watchman is His Conscience

by newmrsdewinter



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5035930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newmrsdewinter/pseuds/newmrsdewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU scenario -- Loosely based on the movie scene where Shinjiro finds Ken wandering the streets during the Dark Hour</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Man's Watchman is His Conscience

 

 

It was dark and Ken couldn't see a thing.

He ran through the narrow alleys across the strip mall, not pausing to let his eyes adjust to the darkness until he nearly tripped into a fountain. Gasping, his heels skidded against the pavement and he placed a hand to his chest to slow his racing heartbeat.

Wine red water spouted through the rusty cement spigots, splattering little droplets upon the street. It looked too much like the blood gushing from his mother's chest two years before and he felt bile rise from the pit of his gut to his throat. Without a moment's pause, Ken ran until his lungs begged for release at the bridge overlooking Tartarus.

Panting for breath, he rested his chin on the metal railings and slowly took out the box of Pocky he stole from the nearby convenience store. He didn't feel too bad about it since the cashier was rude to him the day before, but he'd pay them back. Someday, when he had the money. He gazed at the glowing tower through half-lidded eyes while crunching on a stick.

The Dark Hour was exhilarating. Ken always knew that a day was twenty-four hours, but for some reason, it always felt longer. The entire island was a desolate playground and no one was going to stop him from exploring, not even monsters or murderers. The Chairman warned him about serial killers prowling the alleys, but he wasn't in any danger if he was too fast to catch their bullets, right? Besides, how could they find someone as small as himself in such a vast, empty city?

Ken let the crumbs of his Pocky fall freely over his windbreaker, crunching loudly with an open mouth. If there weren't any adults to police his actions, then there definitely weren't any rules for him to follow either. While he might entertain the idea of vandalism and prank-pulling, he'd never actually have the courage to do it. Petty theft was the most crime he was willing to commit and he could still feel the condemning glare of the Buddha perched on the corner of the store even as he chewed on the remaining crumbs of his snack.

In spite of the pools of blood seeping at his feet and the cold, emerald sky hanging above his head, Ken felt at peace. There was a strange sort of optimism in being alone. At the police station, Ken was told he had nothing to fear but fear itself. He could find solace in that, easy. The only thing he had to worry about was how he was going to find his next meal.

Food was scarce in a dorm filled with hungry, contentious kids. Ken pushed and shoved to eat all he could grab, but it still wasn't enough to make him taller. Even if he rested both his arms on top of the metal grate, his feet still lifted off the ground just the tiniest bit. He frowned.

Why should he concern himself with such trivial matters when he was alive during an hour that shouldn't exist? Everything from his schoolyard bullies, his dead mother and Officer Kurosawa seemed inconsequential in comparison. The streets were vacant and ripe for exploring.

"That is the ugliest tower I have ever seen," said Ken loudly, testing the night. His voice was a pitch shriller than he intended. When no one replied, he let go a sigh of relief, stowing the empty carton back into his jacket.

It really was an ugly tower, sticking out like a kryptonite thumb into the sky. There must be some treasure inside something so hideous. Or even better, adventure, one worthier than the comics stashed underneath his bed and the shows on TV. His heart began to race. "I wonder what's in it."

"Hope you're not stupid enough to find out," replied a gravelly voice.

Ken's head shot upward so fast that it was a wonder he didn't stumble over. He sucked in a sharp gasp and was suddenly confronted with the ferocious glower of a shady young man in a beanie.

"Let me guess," said Shinji gruffly. "You stole that Pocky, didn't you?"

Ken didn't dare deny it. "Yes, sir."

"And I bet you've been told multiple times by multiple people not to wander during the Dark Hour."

"Yes, sir." He tried to meet the man's glare defiantly, but it came out as a terrified squeak.

"And yet, you still did it."

"Yes, sir."

"What, you got nothin' else to say?"

"Yes sir, wait -- I mean, no --"

Shinji sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "When the Dark Hour is over, you're comin' with me to apologize to the shopkeeper."

Ken scuffed his shoes, keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon the ground. "Okay."

"What's your name?"

"Ken Amada."

Shinji knew who he was. This was a simple formality. Everything about Ken's existence was a pang of guilt to his heart, one for every blow Castor struck upon his mother's lifeless body. Everything from the same orange windbreaker he wore that terrifying night to the small quaver in his high voice. Shinji didn't need to see Ken's face to know the child behind the heavy footsteps he heard clattering through the city. It was fate, karma with a capital 'K' come back to royally kick his ass.

Every man has their own cross to bear and Shinji's was named Ken Amada.

"Are you gonna take me to the police?" blurted Ken loudly, disrupting his pensive reverie. Shinji realized belatedly that he must have made quite an imposing figure to the terrorized child, all hunched over in an oversized pea coat and a 5 o'clock shadow. Ken gazed at him with imploring eyes, practically begging him not to take him back to the station. Shinji had a good hunch that he'd been there already.

"No," said Shinji, softening the tiniest bit. "But I _will_ take you back to your dorm once the city turns back to normal. And after we've visited the mini mart," he added. He quirked a dark brow at Ken's scrawny legs. "If I let you go, are you gonna run?"

"Yes, sir," said Ken honestly, looking as if he was about to bolt at any given second.

"Then I won't turn you loose," said Shinji decisively, privately applauding Ken for his candor. "You hungry?"

"Starving," he said automatically, looking up at him hopefully.

Well, Shinji wasn't going to cast the first stone. If all the kid could steal was one measly box of Pocky, perhaps there was still hope for his moral compass. Ken's only crime was his stomach and Shinji knew the feeling all too well. 

The entire situation stank of nostalgia and the ghost of a wayward young girl with gray pigtails. Smoke and mirrors and memories he didn't want to revisit. He sighed wearily. "I'll take you back to my place and I'll fix you something to eat. After that, you're on your own."

"Thank you, sir -- Sorry. Um, what's your name?"

Shinji swallowed thickly and pressed a steady hand to Ken's back, ushering him into the shadows. "Shinjiro Aragaki."

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit, my persona "lore" is a bit rusty. I really don't know where this would take place in the canon timeline, or if it actually COULD happen, but it was a lot of fun to write!


End file.
